


Pact of Ice and Fire

by HouseNaelgyreon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, BAMF Jon Snow, BAMF Sansa Stark, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, Death, Dothraki, Dragons, Duty before love, Endgame Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Essos, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fight for the Throne, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Jonerys, King and Queens, Love, M/M, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Pregnant Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Redemption, Religious Conflict, Romance & Drama, Royalty, Sacrifice, Sansa and Daenerys become friends, Screw D & D, Season 8 Rewrite, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Smut, True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy, Warg Arya Stark, Warg Bran Stark, Warg Jon Snow, Warg Sansa Stark, Warging, Westeros, Westerosi Politics, battles, dragonlord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseNaelgyreon/pseuds/HouseNaelgyreon
Summary: What is a man good for, if not the honor of his word?All Jon Snow has ever wanted was to protect the North. Formally a simple bastard, now a King and leader of his people, Jon must prepare them against the Long Night. So when he hears of the infamous Dragon Queen's arrival, Jon knows that she is the key to their survival.While Jon was ready to pay some price for her help, Jon wasn't expecting to fall in love with Daenerys. Naively, Jon believes that their impending doom would make everyone work together, but of course, he's wrong. Between squabbling minor lords and deep-rooted prejudice, the two factions are virtually at war themselves.But when a long-forgotten Pact comes into the light, it offers a way for the two clashing factions to come together — a method for Westeros to truly heal: the Pact of Ice and Fire.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 66
Kudos: 180





	1. CHAPTER I – JON

“Land ho!”

Jon Snow pushed open the windows of his cabin, breathing in the salty air, gooseflesh prickling his body from the cold.

The port city of White Harbor stared back at him. On could see ships from distant continues coming in and out of port. Fishers were heading out on their small boats to catch their breakfast. The hammering of workers on the docks repairing vessels.

He was home.

Not truthfully. Jon was back in the North, but he wouldn’t indeed be home until he reached Wintertown.

“My love, wake up,” Jon whispered. “We’re here.”

Among the thick pelts and blankets on his bed, a small, pale foot moved, disappearing within the large pile. The mass began to move, a sleepy violet eye peeking out as Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rose from the bed.

“It’s too early,” Daenerys yawned, a mass of silver curls cascading down her naked body.

Jon turned around, the erotic image of his lover among the pelts cause his loins to stir.

For three months, they had been cramped on this boat. Every night he spent in her bed.

Who, in their wildest dreams, would believe that Jon, the great Bastard of the North, would be the lover of a Queen? Jon surely wouldn’t.

All his life, Jon had been chastised, spat on, abused by all but a handful of people. Jon felt he had no purpose at all.

But that was before the Wall.

But that was before the White Walkers.

But that was before he had met the love of his life, his Dany.

Jon would freely admit that when he had heard word that the infamous Dragon Queen had landed in Westeros to claim the Iron Throne, he was worried. Not for the demoness who currently claimed the throne, but for the Smallfolk. He worried about them, about what would happen to them in the bloody battle for the throne. But even above his worry for the Smallfolk, Jon was worried for everyone. The living dead were the real enemy. They were the ones that had to be stopped.

Jon was prepared to give up his throne if he must, as long as his people were safe. He was ready for a haughty, spoiled girl like Sansa used to be growing up. Instead, he found a calm, cool, collected woman… not the Dragon that terrified all of Westeros.

Slowly, Jon walked to the bed. Cupping Daenerys’s chin, he pressed his lips to his in a firm, passionate kiss. His breeches grew tight at the sound of her soft moan, Daenerys reaching out to pull him back into the bed. But Jon forced himself to pull away.

“We will be docking any minute,” Jon whispered, tucking a lock of silver behind her ear. “I have to go.”

“Would you stay if your Queen commanded you?” Daenerys asked, her tongue teasing.

Jon would have stayed at the drop of a hat. But common sense told Jon better of it. For three months, they had managed to keep their relationship a secret; they could last a little longer.

“I’ll find a way to be with you tonight,” Jon promised. “Like I always do.”

He kissed her one last time before grabbing his shirt. Fixing his clothes, Jon smoothed his hair and tied it back, walking to the door where he knocked twice. There was a brief silence before the door opened, Daenerys’s Chief Advisor appearing.

“The cost is clear, Your Grace,” Missandei said, although her eyes were on Daenerys.

Daenerys nodded. “Thank you, please attend me.”

Missandei stepped aside for Jon to leave Daenerys’s chambers, watching as he walked down the halls.

Jon’s feet sped down the halls of the ship, the King heading to his chambers before he could be seen. He had gotten up early enough, but as Jon rounded a corner, he dumped into a member of Daenerys’s Small Council: Tyrion Lannister.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said, crossing his arms behind his back. “What are you doing up so early?”

Jon fought to keep a blank face. “I was out for a walk to get some fresh hair… it can be quite… suffocating in the chambers assigned to me at times.”

Tyrion gave Jon a knowing look. “I understand. Fires do burn quite hot… in small, cramped chambers.”

A muscle in Jon’s cheek jerked. “Yes… they can. I was just walking to the upper deck to oversee our docking. As Her Grace’s Hand, I’m sure you would like to join me.”

“I would,” Tyrion replied, nodding. “Thank you, Jon.”

The two men climbed the stairs to the Upper Deck, sunlight blinding Jon’s eyes. His boots pounded against the wood, the King clearing his throat for attention.

“King in the North on deck!” A Northmen barked.

The other Northmen on the ship all scrambled to bow formally. Those, however, that followed Daenerys only gave Jon a side-ways glance, clearly not impressed.

One of the Northmen raised his head and glared at a nearby Unsullied.

“Hey, cock-less!” the Northmen growled. “Did you not hear? A King is on deck! Bow!”

The Unsullied said nothing, his brown eyes staring straight ahead.

Jon remembered when he first saw the Unsullied. How… uniform, they all were. In the battles Jon had fought in, the men all moved like ants. Running as a swarm of ants over an enemy. The Unsullied moved as a singular, unified force. Their blocks were stable, their steps in sync with each other.

Truthfully, Jon was a tad bit jealous.

The Northmen grit his teeth. Standing to his feet, his hand went to the pommel of his sword, and it was at that moment that Jon stepped in.

“Soldier!” Jon bellowed, his voice cutting through the air.

The Northmen froze as his King thundered in his direction, his face as hard and cold as ice. Quickly, he dropped to his knees. “Y-Your Grace.”

Jon loomed over the man’s bowed form. “Tell me that I did not just see you attempt to attack a member of Her Grace’s army?”

The Northmen began to tremble, raising frightened eyes to Jon’s stormy grey. “H-He did not… he was not respecting you… Your Grace.”

“And so you believe it was your duty to teach him respect?” Jon bellowed.

The Northmen flinched. “Your… Your Grace…”

“Davos!” Jon yelled.

The Onion Knight appeared seemingly out of thin air. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Join pointed to the man at his feet. “See that this man receives ten lashes, and be sent back to his village once his wounds are treated.”

“No!” the Northmen cried out, clutching Jon’s cloak. “I’ll be dishonored!”

“As you should be,” Jon retorted, his tone unforgiving. “You were prepared to attack another man unprovoked. That is among the greatest dishonors.” He turned to the Northerners watching. “Let me be clear. The men brought by Her Grace are to be respected as if they were your kin. We must fight as one, unified if we are to overcome the dead. Any man I hear disrespecting these brave soldiers shall receive twenty lashes and sent back to his home in disgrace. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” came the unified call of the Northerners.

Jon nodded, turning around, he found himself face-to-face with a smirking Tyrion. “What?” Jon asked.

“Being a King suits you,” Tyrion replied. “You command men well.”

Jon sighed, his shoulders sagging as if he had been carrying a great weight. “I never wanted to be a king.”

“And yet here you are,” Tyrion said. “A king who…”

The words ceased on his tongue as a silver head appeared, coming up the stairs. Daenerys, dressed in a thick furred coat made of white, slashed with red. Her hair was pulled back into her usual elaborate braids, fastened with a three-headed dragon pin.

At the sight of their queen, the Unsullied all began to rhythmically bang the ends of their spears against the deck of the boat.

“Mhysa,” they chanted. “Mhysa! Mhysa.”

Jon arched an eyebrow. He had never heard such a word before, the King wondering if it was just one of his lover’s many, many, many, titles.

“Tyrion,” Daenerys said, greeting both men coolly. “Lord Snow.”

Jon noticed the men around him stiffen at the clear affront of not using his royal title. He had told Daenerys about doing this. “King Jon,” Jon corrected her, gently, of course. “You are not the only ruler in Westeros, Your Grace.”

“And yet we both know I aim to be the only ruler in Westeros,” Daenerys sassed back.

Tyrion cleared his throat, Jon thanking the gods for the dwarf. “We have arrived at White Harbor, Your Grace.”

Daenerys slowly turned her head, Jon, fighting the urge not to be aroused by the curve of her long neck.

That neck…

Jon’s mouth went dry. The King was thankful that his long, winter cloak covered the growing bulge in his breeches. Images of last night flashed in his mind, causing Jon to pull his cloak more in front of him. If Daenerys saw this, she didn’t notice, although Jon couldn’t help but wonder if Tyrion noticed.

“Tell me about White Harbor,” Daenerys asked.

Her question was meant for Tyrion, but Jon was the one who spoke, so eager to please her. To see those plump lips curve into that dazzling smile.

“It’s the only true city of the North,” Jon explained, forcing himself to not shove Tyrion out of the way so he could stand closer to her. “As well as being the seat of House Manderly. I sent scouts ahead to announce to us. They should be hosting us for our stay.”

As if summoned by magic, a small ship bearing the white and green merman sigil of House Manderly appeared. The gangplank was lowered, and a servant dressed in the aquamarine and white colors of House Manderly climbed aboard. He bowed first to Daenerys, then to Jon, although Jon saw his bow wasn’t as low.

“Your Graces,” the Servant said. “Lord Wyman of House Manderly welcomes you formally to White Harbor. He graciously extends Guests Right to you, as well to house you before your travel to Winterfell.”

Jon arched an eyebrow. While it was no secret that he would be returning to Winterfell, he was curious about something. All the Northern Houses had been commanded to assemble on Winterfell, to gather their strength and prepare themselves and prepare for the upcoming battle against the dead.

Why House Manderly refused this order confused Jon, as well as irritated him. Whatever their reason for ignoring his commands, they had rejected a command by their King; and Jon was going to make his displeasure known.


	2. CHAPTER II – MISSANDEI

Missandei hated ships.

The Naathi had grown to fear them, as they were a constant reminder of her former chains. She managed to cross the Narrow Sea thanks to her Grey Worm and Daenerys, but the seas of Westeros were another matter. For the past three moon cycles, they had been on this ship. They didn’t know where Euron Greyjoy’s fleet was, so they had to be careful, on their way to the North.

So, they went a long way. Staying as far away from the coast of Westeros as possible. A trip that would have taken no more than three weeks turned into three months.

During those three months, Missandei had to become both a spy and bodyguard to Daenerys.

After the first night, Jon had spent in Daenerys’s bed, it was Missandei who had to get rid of the evidence. Thankfully, Daenerys’s personal Dothraki and Essosi handmaidens were discreet and knew how to handle such matters.

They guarded Daenerys’s chamber in shifts, giving Missandei time to spend with her lover.

But now, they were forced to leave the sanctity of the ship and enter into this Northern Port city.

Slowly, the lines of Unsullied and tribes of Dothraki disembarked from the many Targaryen ships. As a member of Daenerys’s inner court, a horse was provided for Missandei to ride on, rather than walk or be carried in a cart. Missandei was prepared for icy glares or cat-like hissing.

Instead, they were all greeted by thunderous, cheering crowds. Some were even tossing winter roses at the feet of Daenerys and Jon’s horses. Others stuffed cakes and other sweets in the arms of the Targaryen and Stark servants.

It was all… very unexpected.

The person dressed in white and light-blue led them to a magnificent castle made of flawless white stone. The towers were decorated with sea animals such as crabs, seahorses, whales, and this weird half-human/half-fish creature that painted all the banners.

A thick crowd of Northerners awaited them in what Missandei believed to be the courtyard. The moment they saw Daenerys and Jon’s horses, everyone dropped instantly to their knees.

“Presenting Their Graces,” the Herald dressed in white and light-blue proclaimed. “Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and King Jon Snow of House Stark.”

Missandei couldn’t help but notice that the Herald had used Daenerys’s name first, rather than Jon’s. By doing this, these Northerners were recognizing Daenerys as their Queen first, and Jon as their king second.

An impossible fat man slowly rose to his feet. Waddling over to Daenerys, he kissed her cloak before pressing it to his forehead, then bowed his head again.

“Your Grace,” the Man said. “I, Lord Wyman of House Manderly, welcome you to New Castle. It is an honor and blessing by the gods for me to host you and Your Court.”

Daenerys coolly nodded. “It is an honor to stay here, Lord Manderly. I hope we will not be a burden upon you and your stores.”

“Never will a member of the true Royal House be a burden,” Lord Manderly said, giving another flourishing bow. “Come, I am sure you are cold. Chambers have been prepared as well as a feast in your honor.”

“Am I to be honored as well?” Jon interrupted. “During this feast?”

Missandei saw Lord Manderly’s eyes give Jon a cutting look, but he seemed to remember his manners.

“Of course you will be, Your Grace,” Lord Manderly said. “You are the King in the North.”

Jon nodded, although his lips were twisted into a deep frown. “Yes, that is right. So, I would love for you to explain to me why you did not heed my command to gather at Winterfell?”

Lord Manderly flashed a courtly smile. “Your Grace, I was preparing myself and my men to go, of course. But when word reached me of your ship arriving, what loyal subject would I be to have you be greeted by an empty castle? I do humbly beg your forgiveness if I offended you.”

Jon gave a stiff nod. “If that was your true course of action, where is nothing for me to forgive. Although, I do expect you to ride with us to Winterfell, now that we are here?”

Lord Manderly gave another dramatic bow. “Of course, Your Grace. House Manderly lives to serve the crown.”

But Missandei realized that this Lord Manderly did not state which ‘crown’ that he served.

As Lord Manderly turned around to lead Daenerys and Jon into New Castle, Missandei caught the look that Daenerys flashed her hidden lover. Thankfully no one saw it, but the heated gaze in Daenerys’s eyes told Missandei that her Queen had clearly been aroused by Jon taking charge as a king should.

But this was going to be dangerous. They were in a new castle with new people. Missandei didn’t know if anyone was trustworthy, but Daenerys’s hunger for Jon wouldn’t be denied. If she wanted him, then Daenerys would have him.

* * *

“Your Grace, please allow me to introduce my granddaughters: Wynafryd and Wylla,” Lord Manderly said.

Wynafryd looked like a normal Northern girl to Missandei. She dressed in thick brown wool, sea-green eyes, with her chestnut brown hair bound in a thick braid threaded with pearls. Her sister was another matter.

Wylla was a lot fairer, and wore a green dress, and had blonde hair dyed a startling shade of green.

Both girls had high intelligence behind their eyes, Missandei realized. These weren’t some shy, blushing girls. They might not be warriors that carried a sword, but it was clear that their greatest weapons were their minds.

“Your Grace,” Wynafryd and Wylla said together, curtsying low to Daenerys. “It is an honor.”

Daenerys smiled warmly. “It is an honor to meet you, as well. Your castle is quite beautiful. As is the north. The ice and snow give an ethereal grace and beauty I did not know existed.”

Wylla lifted her head. “We can go riding if you wish. There are plenty of trails that are still safe to travel on.”

“Wylla…” Lord Manderly chuckled. “Her Grace will not have the time for riding. But perhaps you can give her a tour around the castle. If Her Grace likes to read, we have plenty of books. I’m sure that will pique her interest.”

“Thank you, truly,” Daenerys said, her smile still warm. “I do love to read and learn. But if you do not mind, I would like to help my handmaidens unpack. Then, check on my soldiers to make sure they are settling into their barracks fine.”

Lord Manderly nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that your men didn’t have much fur spread out among them. I have provided them with it at my own expense. I also have a gift for you.”

Wynafryd clapped her hands. Two servants appeared carrying several bolts of thick, black, glossy fur. “Please accept these sable furs, as a statement of our loyalty.”

Daenerys gasped softly. Slowly, she reached out, running her fingers over the fur. “I… I do not know what to say. Thank… Thank you.”

Lord Manderly smiled. “I do not care what the other House’s might say, in the North, Your Grace. But know that House Manderly stands by your side, and will gladly bend the knee from this day until our dying day.”

Daenerys lifted her chin. A coping mechanism that Missandei knew she did to prevent herself from crying. “I hope that I prove myself worthy of such an honor.”

Lord Manderly bowed again, leading his granddaughters out. As the door closed behind them, it finally gave Daenerys some peace.

“I can’t believe we are here,” Daenerys sighed, collapsing in a thickly padded chair.

“Neither can I, Your Grace,” Missandei said, nodding for the handmaidens to begin unpacking. “I will confess it will take me some time to… get used to the place. We should prepare you for the feast tonight. I was thinking about your high-collar grey dress? The underlying blue brings out the violet of your eyes. Maybe, a smile braid?”

Daenerys gave her a tiny smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Missandei?”

“I dread to think about it, Your Grace,” Missandei teased, the two of them laughing.

Here, in New Castle, there was hot, running water. Pumped by underground pipes, the sizeable wooden bathing tub was quickly filled. Missandei poured in sweet-smelling oils and soaps, before helping Daenerys step inside to bathe. While she did so, Missandei oversaw the settling of her chambers. She didn’t want to unpack much, as Missandei wasn’t sure how long they would stay in New Castle. It couldn’t be that long, she figured, they had to begin the march to Winterfell as soon as they could.

“… and that should go there,” Missandei was saying to a Dothraki handmaiden when she heard the door handle rattle.

Missandei’s head jerked up, the Naathi quickly snatching a nearby dagger that one of the Dothraki handmaidens always carried. She was ready to defend her Queen with her life. Yet, when the door slowly opened, it was to reveal a nervous-looking, Jon Snow.

“Lord Snow?” Missandei said, arching an eyebrow as she slowly lowered the dagger. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Dany,” Jon whispered, quickly closing the door. “I don’t have much time.”

Missandei arched an eyebrow. Jon was dressed in his formal wear, but the twinkle in his eye told Missandei that he hungered for much more then… talking.

“I will see if she can speak to you,” Missandei said, going into the bathing room.

Daenerys was just getting out of the large tub when Missandei entered.

“Your Grace,” Missandei said, stepping forward to help Daenerys into her robe. “Lord Snow is here to ‘talk’ to you.”

Daenerys stifled a giggle. “Why do you make it sound as if talking is the last thing on his mind?”

“Because it is,” Jon’s voice said behind them.

Both women turned around, both seeing Jon’s grey eyes darkening with lust and hunger for his lover.

“I… wanted to make sure you had everything you need,” Jon said, slowly walking to Daenerys.

Daenerys smirked, playing with one of the ties of her robe. “Lord Manderly has made sure we are all quite taken care of. He even gifted me saber furs.”

“Saber furs, huh?” Jon said, running a hand over Daenerys’s hip. “They are the most luxurious furs there is. Anything for a queen…”

Missandei rolled her eyes, trying not to chuckle. These two couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“What are you doing here, Jon?” Daenerys breathed.

Jon wrapped his arms around Daenerys’s waist, pulling her against his chest. When Daenerys shuddered, the shoulder of her gown slipped down, caring the creamy flesh.

“I believe it will be about another hour before the feast is prepared for our honor,” Jon said, pressing his lips to her shoulder, then her neck. “I wanted to spend that time with you…”

“Missandei…” Daenerys moaned, one of Jon’s hands sliding into her robe to cup her breast.

“I already know, Your Grace,” Missandei chuckled.

Missandei closed the bathing chamber door behind her as she left. She could hear the sound of clothes being discarded, heavy breathing as fingers sought flesh. She could hear the heavy clunk of Jon’s belt falling to the ground, and finally, Daenerys’s deep moan.

As a former slave, Missandei was used to public displays of affection. But unlike then, the attachment between Daenerys and Jon seemed much more genuine and loving. It was clear as day that Daenerys loved Jon, and he loved her. Yet, Missandei couldn’t shake the feeling that love was going to be severely tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Long-time no see! It's been a while since I posted a chapter for this book, and that was because I wanted to do it write. Unlike my other FanFictions for ASOIAF, I'm working harder to make it much more... realistic. By realistic, I mean I'm doing it more-so to the book character, then the TV show. So that means no Hitler Daenerys here at all.
> 
> If you haven't read the tags, there is a LOT plotted for this book. In fact, I've plotted out the first like 25/30 chapters already. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to make this just one megabook or have it as a series. If I did do a series, then I wanna say I have 3 books in mind. OR I just might do 1 mega book and keep it together and organized. 
> 
> Now, about this chapter!
> 
> I wanted to see Winterfell through the eyes of someone who is more... neutral to what's going on in Westeros, and I settled on Missandei. I was upset that the TV show didn't introduce the Manderly's, as they are among the most important House's in the North. Like they're the richest and are known to be very loyal to House Stark, although historically they had been loyal to House Targaryen in the past. Keep an eye on them, as they'll going to be important characters in the future.
> 
> Aren't Jon and Daenerys naughty? Can't keep their hands off each other. Unlike that half-assed kiss we got at the frozen waterfall in Season 8, expect to see a LOT of Jon and Daenerys doing the vertical tango. I mean they are in love, are a King & Queen, and believe that Daenerys can't have children. Why else wouldn't they be sleeping together at least once a day if not more? ;) 
> 
> (*cough cough* check out the tags that'll explain their journey in THAT department *cough cough*)
> 
> Next chapter, after a little talk with Lord Manderly, they are heading to Winterfell! I'm going to have to da LOT of fixing that terrible scene, so please bear with me.
> 
> Until next time!


	3. CHAPTER III – DAENERYS

Daenerys was used to long traveling. Growing up in Essos, living on the run in her youth, and even with the Dothraki, the Dragon Queen had gotten used to how long some journeys took. While in the past, she would have been impatient for the journey to end, Daenerys found something… to look forward too.

At night, Jon would sneak into her tent and take her in his arms as they ripped off each other’s clothes before falling upon her bedroll. After spending all night in each other’s sweet embrace, Jon would slip from her tent, and Missandei would appear to help Daenerys prepare for the day. No one outside a handful of close advisors knew. This careful dance continued every night, for the next three weeks it took them to travel from White Harbor to Winterfell.

The night before they were to reach Wintertown, the two factions made camp. Once again, late that night, Jon snuck into Daenerys’s tent, taking him in her arms. The Lovers rolled around Daenerys’s furred bedroll, changing positions, yet struggling to keep their moans of pleasure muffled. Always the Dragon, Daenerys preferred to do the riding, rather than being ridden. Jon didn’t care and instead encouraged it, aroused by Daenerys’s dominant nature.

“Fucking hells…” Jon groaned, bucking his hips up as Daenerys rocked on top of him.

“Such language… isn’t worthy of a King…” Daenerys teased, tilting her head back with a deep sigh.

Jon cupped one of her ivory-colored breasts, rolling the hardening pink nipple between his fingers. He smirked at Daenerys soft mew of pleasure. “Then I’m not a King. But a simple man…” He sat up, weaving his fingers through her silver locks. “Fucking the love of his life.”

He began to drive his hips up, pushing his cock into Daenerys’s velvety walls, causing her to gasp. Violet orbs started into steely grey, the King thrusting into his Queen as she rocked her hips, their bodies pushing them high and higher among the clouds before…

Daenerys felt it, her inner damn exploding. Quickly she covered her mouth, Jon covering her hand with his own as the Dragon Queen cried out in release. The feel of her walls tighten around Jon drove him finally, to seek his pleasure. Rolling Daenerys on her back, Jon grasped her waist, lifting her leg to rest on his hip. His thrusts began frantic, harder, deeper, working for his own pleasure now that Daenerys had been satisfied.

It didn’t take him long.

Uttering a low groan of satisfaction, Jon’s body shuddered as he poured into her. The King in the North uttering a soft prayer to the Old Gods as his fingertips brushed over Daenerys’s stomach before he slowly withdrew from her. Falling at Daenerys’s side, the lovers panting, sweat covering their bodies as they smiled at each other.

“Seems like only a Wolf can satisfy a Dragon,” Daenerys purred, rolling over to cuddle close.

Jon rested his hand on her bottom, giving it a soft squeeze. “Funny thing is… I haven’t had much experience. It wasn’t that long ago I was a green boy. With you, Dany, it just feels… right.”

Daenerys knew of his first lover, a Free Folk woman with flaming red hair. Whenever Jon spoke of it her, it was with sadness, as this Woman had died in his arms.

“I know I can never replace her,” Daenerys whispered, tracing the scars on his chest.

“I don’t want you can replace her,” Jon said, turning his head to her. “I want you to be you, Daenerys Targaryen, the love of my life. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

Daenerys smiled, leaning over to press her lips to his. It meant to be a soft kiss, but the fire between them was never quelled. Her thigh rubbed against his hip, brushing against his cock that was already beginning to harden again.

Jon groaned softly, his mouth opening for their tongues to dance, his hand cupping the back of her head. “Dany… as much as I want to go another round, we do have to talk about what will happen tomorrow.”

Daenerys sighed, knowing what he was going to say. “Can we talk after?” she whispered, her hand sliding down his chest, brushing against his cock. “We don’t know when we’ll be able to do this… again…”

Jon couldn’t stop his low grumble of pleasure as her warm hands wrapped around his shaft, slowly moving up and down. “Dany… It’ll only take a moment.”

Finally, Daenerys consented and pulled away. Sitting up, her long silver locks cascading down her shoulders, her violet eyes glazed over with lust and longing. “Alright, I’m listening.”

To prevent himself from pouncing on her, Jon picked up one fur pelts and wrapped it around her shoulders. Yet, the look in his eyes told Daenerys this ‘distraction’ would only last for so long.

“We need to talk about my sisters… and the Northern Lords,” Jon began. “I can already tell you that they will not be happy to find out that I bent the knee. I know one person in particular who will be furious.”

Daenerys frowned, thinking this over. Part of her, the Dragon side of her, wanted to roll her eyes and not care what the Northern Lords or Jon’s sisters thought. She was here to reconquer the Seven Kingdoms, to claim her birthright, not make friends. She was well within her rights to burn down all who opposed her.

But that wasn’t Daenerys’s way. That was her Father’s way, the Mad King’s Way, the Tyrant’s Way. If Daenerys wanted the people of Westeros to accept her, then she had to tamper her temper, and take things slow. She had to swallow her pride and appease them as best she could, but that didn’t mean she’d let them walk over her.

 _‘I must find a balance,’_ Daenerys thought _. ‘Between a Queen and a Khalessi.’_

“You’re right,” Daenerys finally said aloud. “And, I’ve been thinking about… what to do when we do have that great meeting with your Northern Lords. What if, we do not tell them that you’ve Bent the Knee. What if we say that I allowed you to stay independent? That way they don’t believe you’ve abandoned them, or think I’ve seduced you into it.”

For as long as Daenerys could remember, she had been called a ‘Whore,’ even when she was an innocent child. That was her Brother’s favorite insult when she displeased him to stand up to his abuse. One time he pushed her too far, bellowing at her in rage, calling Daenerys a ‘Horselord’s Slut’ while she was pregnant. That was the day Daenerys found her inner fire; that was the day she decided to stand up for herself.

Nowadays, when people call her a ‘Dragon Whore,’ she refused to show any reaction to it. Whore was a title people used when they were threatened by a woman strong in her own right, and Daenerys refused to bow to such misogyny.

Jon brushed her cheek. “We will figure it out, my Love. But I want you to know that no matter what they say, no matter what comes our way, I will stand by you. I love you, Dany, from this day until my dying day.” He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling softly. “I don’t care if I have to fight the whole world.”

“Jon…” Daenerys whispered. “Please, don’t say anything you’ll regret,”

Jon pulled her close, spreading her legs with his hand so he could feel her heat. “If there is one thing, that I will never regret, is the day I met you.”

* * *

When the sun rose the next morning, the two factions dismantled their camp and set out for the final stretch of their journey. Although Daenerys and Jon rode side by side, neither spoke much. They had to keep a somber mood, lest anyone suspect their affair. As their armies traveled over a high hill, Jon pulled his horse to a stop, his eyes focusing on something in the distance.

Daenerys followed his gaze to see what had to be the largest castle she had ever seen. The towers so high, she wondered if they were mountains themselves.

“Winterfell?” Daenerys whispered.

Jon slowly nodded. “Winterfell. I’m almost home.”

Jon’s mention of ‘home’ made Daenerys’s stomach twist and tie itself into knots. This was it. There was no going back now.

Spurring her horse forward, Daenerys commanded her army to tighten formation, as the roads began to narrow.

One by one, the smallfolk poked their heads out of their houses. Their steely eyes were fastening upon their King and the Silver Queen, who rode at his side. Daenerys tried to smile, to appear warm and welcoming, yet only received icy glares in return.

“I told you,” Jon whispered. “Northerners aren’t that welcoming to outsiders.”

“But isn’t that backward thinking?” Daenerys whispered back. “How can you expect me to put the lives of my men on the line for you if you do not want us here?”

Jon sighed, shaking his head.

Daenerys saw that he wanted nothing more pull her into his arms, to hold her, to kiss her, but he couldn’t do it. Not now, and who knew when it would be safe for them to be together again?

The roar of Drogon made Daenerys look up to the skies above. The Dragon Queen raised her violet eyes to the heavens as Drogon, followed by his brother, bellowed greetings to the Northerners. Daenerys had been around her Children long enough to know their sounds; the deep rumbling within their throats was their way of saying hello.

But instead of feeling welcome, the Northerners were horrified.

Screaming in terror, they all scrambled to ride, shouting curses at the two dragons in the sky.

Daenerys couldn’t stop the small smirk from curving her lips. Drogon, her favorite, could feel her tension, her anxiousness. He pressed against their mental connection, trying to give his Mother his strength, to remind her that she was a Dragon.

The front gates of Winterfell were open wide, although Stark soldiers stood in front of it. Jon’s men rode in first, carrying their Stark banners high, followed by two Dothraki and two Unsullied, taking the Targaryen ones.

A crowd of people dressed in thick furs awaited Jon and Daenerys as they rode through the gates. Daenerys saw the usual stern, hard faces of the Northmen, but her eyes settled upon a young woman with hair the color of flaming coals.

This young woman didn’t have the coloring of a Northerner, yet looked perfectly at ease in the harsh winter snows. She regarded Jon with deep respect but also calculated coolness behind those light-blue eyes. Next to the Red Headed, in a wheeled chair, sat a boy with dark-brown hair and blue eyes, his face unreadable. When the Boy turned to look at Daenerys, a shudder went up her spine. There was something different about him; his eyes held a pearl of wisdom behind them, knowing everything yet nothing at the same time.

Jon took one look at the Boy in the wheelchair and let out a gasp. Urging his horse forward, he galloped into the courtyard, leaping from the back of his stallion.

Left alone to her own devices, Daenerys stayed behind and slid down from her horse, watching the scene. Jon pressed his lips to the Boy's forehead, Daenerys heard him say something about ‘Bran,’ remembering that was his brother that Jon thought was dead.

‘If that’s Bran,’ Daenerys though as she stood next to Ser Jorah. ‘Then, the red-headed young woman must be Sansa.’

Once again, Daenerys’s stomach began to tie itself in knots. This was it. This was when she was going to meet his family. The subject of family was always one that left Daenerys feeling hallow. For the longest, Viserys was her only family. Yet, he abused her whenever she Woke the Dragon, only to be lost at the hands of her first husband. Then, she married Drogo, and he became her family, but then she lost him too, cursed by a witch.

Now, Daenerys had Jon. She wanted him to be her family. But would his real family, these Starks and the Northmen, allow that?

“…I have someone I want you to meet,” Jon suddenly said.

Daenerys blinked, snatched from her thoughts. She looked up to see Jon holding his hand out to her, wanting her to meet his sister and brother.

 _‘I am Blood of the Dragon,’_ Daenerys told herself, walking with a calculated slowness. _‘I am the Blood of the Dragon.’_

When Daenerys came to a stop before the red-headed Young Woman, Jon cleared his throat.

“Allow me to introduce, Her Grace, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,” Jon said. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce to you my sister, Sansa Stark, the LAdt of Winterfell.”

Sansa’s blue eyes were sharp, cold, as ice. The smile that this Sansa wore was a false one; the joy on her lips didn’t reach her eyes. She hated that Daenerys was here, Daenerys could tell. This Sansa was only formal for the sake of her brother, who, in turn, was also her King.

Daenerys raised her chin and put her smile. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Lady Stark. Your brother wasn’t lying when he said the Northern beauty is something truly to behold.”

Sansa gave her brother side-ways look, before turning fully back to Daenerys. “Thank you for your… kind wars. Winterfell is yours, Your Grace. I will personally oversee the settling of your men and…”

“We don’t have time for this,” the one called Bran blurted out. “The Night King is on his way here, as we speak. He has your dragon, his armies have broken through the wall.”

Daenerys’s heart froze in her chest. She had only recently accepted the death of her youngest Child. Now, to know that he was in the hands of the diabolical monster made Daenerys sick. The blood drained from her face as the air began to feel thin, Daenerys staggered backward, only for Jon to catch her, his hand cupping her back.

“Your Grace,” Jon whispered.

“I’m fine,” Daenerys said quickly, pulling away from his touch. “The air… the news.”

“Why don’t we all go into the Great Hall?” Sansa suggested. “We can all talk there.”

Daenerys nodded, turning to Grey Worm and Missandei, who lingered close to their Queen. “Grey Worm,” Daenerys said in Low Valyrian. “Oversee the settling of our soldiers. Make sure no… problems arise.”

Grey Worm bowed his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Daenerys looked to Sansa. “This is my chief advisor and head of my Household. She will oversee the setting up of my chambers. If they have been prepared, of course.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, looking to Missandei. “Does she speak Common Tongue?”

“With tens of others,” Missandei replied, her Naathi accent there, but her words flawless.

Sansa’s eyebrows raised, but she said nothing. “Then, my steward will make sure that she has everything that she needs.”

Missandei turned and bowed, not to Sansa, but her Queen, before walking to where the other Essoi and Dothraki handmaidens that served Daenerys stood.

Daenerys knew that she could count on Missandei and Grey Worm, although she snuck a glance at Jorah, Tyrion, and Varys. She wanted them at her side during this ‘Great Hall’ meeting. She didn’t trust any of these Northerners yet, save Jon, of course. Winterfell’s size seemed to be doubled when they entered its halls. It wasn’t the rich, polished marble manse’s of Meereen or Pentos, but still held an individual beauty to it, Daenerys couldn’t deny.

The Great Hall was monstrous. Daenerys wondered if could hold a small army within these walls, yes, yes she thought it could. Several benches and tables had been brought, but they weren’t decorated for a feast. Instead, the Northern Lords and Ladies who had followed them inside took their places at them. Sansa and Jon walked to a larger, more significant table before a roaring fire carved in the shape of a snarling wolf.

Three chairs were placed there, although Daenerys took note a smaller, less padded one, was at the far right. Daenerys’s instincts told her that the chair was supposed to be hers. It was an apparent slight, but she refused to be upset by it. Instead, Daenerys took her place by the fire, warming her hands and body against the flames.

“When we heard the wall was breached,” Sansa said grandly to those assembled. “I summoned the rest of our banners.”

“I do not see them all here,” Jon replied. “Lord Manderly was at White Harbor, when Her Grace, and I arrived. He claimed that he was waiting to meet us personally. His men should be arriving within the week. I also do not see the Glovers.”

“We are awaiting Lord Glover’s raven,” Sansa said quickly. “The newest House to arrive was the Umbers. Lord Ned Umber?”

A child no more than eight nervously walked forward. Daenerys watched as he bowed before the three at the Head table, although he trembled.

“Y-Y-Yes, My Lady?” the seedy voice whispered.

“When will your men arrive?” Sansa asked.

“My men sent word that they need more carts and horses,” Ned Umber replied. “Then, we will be here within a week.”

“How many carts and horses, do you need?” Daenerys interrupted.

Ned gulped, looking from Jon to Sansa, then Daenerys. “A dozen carts or so will help… Your Grace.”

Daenerys looked to one of her Dothraki lieutenants, nodding for him to step forward.

“Qhono,” Daenerys said in their tongue. “Do we have a dozen carts to spare?”

“We have whatever my Khalessi desires,” Qhono replied.

Daenerys turned to the small, young, Ned Umber. “Qhono will help you and give you what you need. If that is alright with your King and Lady?”

Jon nodded his approval, Sansa did as well.

Ned Umber’s face lit up. “T-Thank you!” he stammered. “My Lady! Your Grace and… Your Grace.”

Daenerys smiled at the young Boy. So young, yet having the weight of an entire House and legacy on his shoulders. How Daenerys knew that feeling.

“Your Grace?” a mocking, sharp voice snapped, cutting the air.

Daenerys looked in the direction of the voice for a dark-haired girl rise from her seat.

“Lady Mormont,” Jon sighed. “You have something to say?”

“You could say that,” this, Lady Mormont snapped. “If I have ‘Your Graces’ permission to speak?”

Jon frowned, yet nodded for her to continue.

“We crowned you our King,” Lady Mormont said, her voice hard. “We crowned you the King in the North. Now you return to us a… a king? A Lord? A Warden? Who are you?”

“Jon Snow is still your King,” Daenerys shouted before Jon could speak.

Lady Mormony’s eyebrows shot up, the assembled lords and ladies all whispering among themselves. “Explain, if you please.”

“Her Grace asked me to bend the knee when we first met,” Jon explained, his voice booming in the Great Hall. “I refused. I watched her interact with her people, how they respected her. When she came to my rescue beyond the wall, I offered to Bend the Knee, but she refused my request.”

“The North shall remain independent, if that is its desire,” Daenerys continued. “You have suffered greatly, under the South. I apologize in the name of my Father for what he did to your Warden and his son. But we have a bigger enemy to face. An ally once told me that we must look to the future; we must set aside our differences and join together. Because if we don’t, it doesn’t matter who’s skeleton sits upon the Iron Throne. All that’ll remain in our realm is death. I did not come to Westeros to be Queen of the Ashes and Bones.”

Ser Davos gave a small smile in the back of the Great Hall.

“Her Grace and I have come to an understanding,” Jon said. “In her giving us aid, in this war, we will give her aid in hers. Only she can defeat Cersei, and only she can help us defeat the Night King. So, while Her Grace is here, she is being treated with the utmost respect, her men and women as well. One solider already made the mistake of disrespecting our guests, and after receiving ten flashes was dishonorably sent to his village. I don’t want that to happen again, am I understood?”

Daenerys could feel the heated gaze of the Northmen all glaring at her. She wondered if they considered her the cause of their King’s words.

“What will we do for food?” Sansa suddenly asked.

Jon looked to Sansa. “What do you mean?”

Sansa batted her eyelashes innocently. “I oversaw our stores and believe I have saved up enough food for us to last the winter. But I didn’t plan for Unsullied, Dothraki, and two fully grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?”

Daenerys bristled. “Whatever they want, Lady Stark. But don’t worry. The Iron Irons, Dorne, and the Reach have all Bent the Knee. All I need is a raven and shall reach out to my allies.”

It was a bluff, but only Jon knew the truth besides a handful of others. When Daenerys went against the Lannister army as they marched against Highgarden, she had accidentally burned up most of the food being transported to King’s Landing. At the same time, she didn’t know Yara was alive, nor who control the Reach or Dorne, Daenerys didn’t even know if they were allied to her or Cersei. Yet, this bluff was all she had to keep the peace.

Jon nodded, going with the lie. “Ravens will be provided to Her Grace and her court. I hope she forgives us for not throwing a feast in her honor. But we must prepare for the matter at hand.”

“Of course,” Daenerys said. “I thank you for all your help.”

Jon stood up. “I am sure we are all tired of our many journeys. It’s best if we rest for the night, then formally begin out plans in the morning.”

The Northmen all stood to their feet, bowing as Jon and Sansa walked down from the raised dais. Yet Jon stopped and turned back to Daenerys, holding out his hand for her to take.

“Your Grace?” Jon said. “Allow me the honor to escort you to your chambers?”

Daenerys took his gloved hand. “Of course, Your Grace. The honor is all mine.”

* * *

When Daenerys enters the chambers that were assigned to her, she was surprised to find it transformed.

From what Daenerys had seen of Winterfell, the stone walls were cold and hard. It gave off an eerie aura, forboding. It was as if it was built to keep those inside comfortable, not too comfortable, to know that they must share the suffering of their people if the icy winds blew. But when the doors opened, Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa were blasted in the face by roaring warmth.

Although the central fireplace roared to life, Missandei had placed the braziers from Meereen in the four corners of the chamber, although a metal net acted like a divider. Red mesh cloth surrounded the bed, giving Daenerys protection from any bugs and vermin of the night. The sheets replaced with ones from Meereen, although the thick furs from House Manderly remained. The hard, rough, Northern furniture, Daenerys knew had to have come with the room was gone, in its place the luxurious furnishing of Dragonstone and Essos.

The handmaidens that served Daenerys all fluttered around like butterflies, in back, that was their nickname: Daenerys’s Butterflies. Selected by Missandei and Grey Worm personally, before they left Meereen, the highest rank wore golden armbands with a dragon-head on it.

As the women and girls moved about, Daenerys saw the gleam of daggers or knives strapped to their thighs against the outline of their dresses. There was another reason they were nicknamed ‘Butterflies,’ as the ‘Butterfly Fever; in Naath was known as one of the most deadly diseases in the world.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Missandei said, bowing respectfully to Daenerys, although she gave Jon a small bow as well, she didn’t bother with Sansa.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Daenerys said, looking around her chamber with approval. “What do you think, Lady Sansa?”

“I haven’t seen such luxuries since I’ve been in King’s Landing,” Sansa replied, although the way she said it told Daenerys the memories weren’t pleasant.

“Tea, Your Grace?” Missandei asked, holding out a gilded up to her Queen.

“Thank you,” Daenerys said, accepting the cup with a smile before turning to Jon and Sansa. “If you’d allow, I’d like to retire for the evening. As His Grace said, we all are tired from our long journey.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, bobbing her head in a small curtsy before walking away, although she was waiting at the end of the hall for Jon.

Jon gave Daenerys a small bow as well, although he whispered. “I’ll see you tonight,” his lips hardly moving.

Missandei closed the door behind the King in the North, shooting a small smile to Daenerys.

“What?” Daenerys chuckled, sipping her tea.

“Nothing…” Missandei giggled. “Nothing at all, Your Grace.”

“Missandei, you of all people know you can speak your mind when it comes to me!” Daenerys laughed. “So, tell me, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking how you two need to do a better job in pretending nothing is going on between you,” Missandei replied. “Anyone with half a brain could see how you stare longingly at each other.”

Daenerys playfully rolled her eyes. “Missandei, you worry too much, but I understand where you are coming from. I’ll talk to him later tonight if he comes.”

“Oh, he’s coming,” Missandei chuckled, pouring herself some eat.

Daenerys took another sip from her cup, only to let out a small grunt of pain. Putting her cup down, Daenerys felt her stomach, where the pain had come from. Her insides felt as if they were twisting and tying themselves in knots, the Dragon Queen letting out another groan of pain.

“Your Grace!” Missandei cried, rushing to her Queen. “Should I get a healer?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, No, I’m fine. My moonblood must just be returning.”

Two years ago, when Daenerys had newly conquered Meereen, she flew off on the back of Drogon to escape the Sons of the Harpy. Alone in the Dothraki wilderness and forced to eat strange berries and roasted horses that Drogon had hunted, Daenerys’s moonblood had returned. After years of being without it, the sight of it at first delighted Daenerys, as she believed it meant she could bear another child. But it was infrequent, sometimes lasting twice as long, as usual, other times vanishing for months. Before they had left Dragonstone for the North, Daenerys’s moonblood had recently stopped, after flowing for two weeks.

With the held of her handmaidens, Daenerys took off her heavy coat and underdressed before putting her hand between her legs to see if her moonblood had returned. Her hand came back clean.

“Perhaps it’s the cramps of your body getting ready for it,” Missandei suggested.

Daenerys sighed, accepting a towel a Handmaiden held out for her to clean her hands. “Perhaps. Can you draw me a bath? Please?”

Missandei nodded, turning to give the order to handmaidens.

_I can’t hope for something that can never be, Daenerys told herself as her bathing tub was brought into the chamber. No matter much I pray…_

Her eyes settled upon the small box on her vanity. Inside Daenerys knew were the clouts used to catch her moonblood, sitting unused for the past three months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for you guys!
> 
> So, a lot happened in this chapter. Daenerys and her group made it to Winterfell. I changed up a bit how the first meeting went, but don't worry, more is coming. 
> 
> Jon and Dany can't keep their hands off each other, and after three months of spending every night together, it'll have some consequences. For those who don't know, YES we are getting boat-sex baby, but the reveal (to the characters) doesn't happen for some time. In this story, Dany and Sansa are going to become friends, but it won't happen overnight.
> 
> I'm going to be mixing a bit of a show and the books together, as in the books Daenerys suffers a miscarriage and does get her period back, meaning she CAN now have children. Irregular periods are normal of course, as are cramping during the early stages of pregnancy. That's why doctors say the first 3 months are always the most tender, as anything can happen. And yet here's our girl about to head into battle against the living dead. Don't' worry, she's not going to lose the child, might get some scares, but she's not losing the baby, I can assure you of that.
> 
> You'll also learn more about the 'warrior women' protecting Daenerys in her chambers. A certain Free Folk chieftain is going to need some comforting after Brienne breaks his heart ;)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys loved the chapter and I'll see you again soon!


	4. CHAPTER IV – SANSA

Sansa was seething.

How could Jon do this to her?

How could Jon be so stupid?

How could Jon not see the situation he had put their family in?

Was he really so blind?

“Sansa!” Jon suddenly called out. “I said to stop!”

Sansa had been walking blindly through the halls of Winterfell after they had left the Dragon Queen’s chambers. She needed somewhere to vent, somewhere to scream. She couldn’t go back to her chambers…those was Jon’s.

In Jon’s absence, Sansa had claimed the chambers that belonged to the Warden of the North. After all, she was named regent when he left. But now that Jon was back, the chambers would be his again; everything would revert the Jon. And deep down… Sansa wasn’t so sure how she felt about that.

At the sound of Jon’s voice, Sansa whipped around, her blue eyes blazing.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Sansa spat, giving a mock curtsy. “Do I have your permission to leave?”

Jon’s grey eyes glittered like hard steel. “Sansa, what in the name of the Other’s is the matter with you?”

“Oh nothing,” Sansa snapped. “Now that I’ve been replaced as your closest confidant.”

Jon crossed the hallway in three strides. His large hand wrapped around Sansa’s thin arm, the King in the North, yanking her down the hall until they reached his former chambers. Jon slammed the door behind them before turning to Sansa, his face as red as a beet.

“I’m going to ask this as calmly as I can,” Jon said slowly, taking deep breathes. “What have I done to anger you so?”

Sansa fought against the urge to scream and instead took a deep breath herself to try and be calm. “Let us go back to the beginning. I revised hardly any ravens from you, Jon, while you were in the South. Then, when I do get a raven, it’s to say that your parlay with Cersei failed, so you and the Dragon Queen are marching on Winterfell. Do you know how that looked? How it looked to the Northerners to see the daughter of the Mad King, leading an army of savages and with two giant lizards flying behind her?”

“Daenerys,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “Her name… is Daenerys.”

“Then,” Sansa continued, ignoring his words. “Right before you arrive, I get a raven from Lord Glover.” She snatched the paper from her—no Jon’s—desk. “…While I understand and respect the words of my King. I believe my people and me should stay in our town and our city…”

“It wasn’t simple words,” Jon said, his body trembling with rage. “It was a command. I commanded all the Northern Houses to gather at Winterfell. I commanded them to gather their forces so we could plan our strategy against the dead. I brought the dragonglass!”

“You also brought a Targaryen Queen!” Sansa argued, slamming the paper on the desk. “Did you not once think of how it would look? Then, when you two arrive, it’s clear to anyone with half a brain that something is going on between you!”

The color drained from Jon’s face. Sansa’s brother turned away, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Sansa turned Jon around so he could face her. “Jon, I can see it. And if I can see it, it won’t take long for the other Lords to begin to talk and whisper.”

“Let them whisper then,” Jon snapped. “Let them talk, let them shout it from the highest rooftops! I won’t be ashamed of the woman I love, Sansa. I won’t. All my life, I’ve been ashamed of who I was. I was afraid that no woman would ever want me because I was a bastard. But she doesn’t.”

Sansa’s face was solemn. “Are you sure that it’s your heart that she wants or your crown?”

Jon frowned. “Sansa…”

“She claimed that she would allow the North to be independent. How do we know we can trust her?” Sansa asked.

“Because I trust her,” Jon argued. “And that should be enough.”

Sansa looked into Jon’s eyes. “Tell me the truth, Jon. When you bent the knee, did you do it because it was the right thing…or because you loved her?”

“I offered to do it because it was the right thing,” Jon replied without hesitation. “Daenerys had lost a dragon… a creature she saw as her child, to save me. She is sacrificing everything, the life of her men, her dragons, even herself, to help us. Bending the knee was the honorable thing to do. Yet she refused. On our way here, Daenerys told me that she wanted the people to want her at their Queen. Not feel as if they didn’t have any other choice.” Jon put a hand on Sansa’s arm. “I haven’t asked for much in this life, Sansa. But I am asking you, now, as your brother—not King—to give her a chance. If the Northern Lords see that you accept her, maybe they will too.”

Sansa wanted to say no. There was too much bad blood between both House, between the North and the South. So much so, that Sansa wasn’t sure it would ever be healed.

Yet Jon’s eyes were pleading. He wanted this, so badly, he wanted them to get along.

So, Sansa decided to humor him. She would pretend to be opening, to be accepting, until she could see what the Dragon Queen’s true motives were.

* * *

Jon was kind enough to let Sansa spend one more night in his chambers, allowing her to pack her belongings for the more in the morning. Although Jon claimed that he was going to sleep in another room, Sansa knew where he was going.

If Jon got caught leaving the Dragon Queen’s chambers, then scandal would rock all of Winterfell. The last thing Jon needed was rumors flying that he had been seduced, bewitched by Targaryen magic. After all, Cersei had always claimed a woman’s greatest weapon was what laid between her legs.

When the sun rose, a small cluster of Stark servants began the transition of Sansa’s belongings into another chamber. Then, another group would start to transfer to Jon’s.

In Sansa’s eyes, this was like a transition of power. Her removal as the Head of their House. She was replaced by Jon, the King in the North.

“People are going to ask if you’ve been sucking on those lemons you love so much,” Arya abruptly said.

Sansa screamed. Jumping in the air as her little sister appeared, out of nowhere, at her side.

“What did I say about you slithering around the castle?” Sansa hissed, putting a hand to her heart.

“I don’t take orders from you,” was Arya’s curt reply. “You’re not the Wardeness of Winterfell anymore.”

Sansa had to bite her tongue against a couple of sharp words. She thought she and Arya had gotten past their previous pettiness. It appeared not. Sansa should have known that the arrival of Jon would make Arya switch loyalties. After all, they were thick as thieves as children, the ones who looked the most like their Father. Meanwhile, Sansa and Robb were spoiled rotten by their Mother, trying to turn them into proper young Southerners.

“Jon is King,” was all Sansa said.

“Yes,” Arya said, her grey eyes narrow. “He is.”

“What do you want, Arya?” Sansa sighed. “I’m trying to oversee the moving of my chambers.”

“I was on my way to introduce myself to the Dragon Queen,” Arya replied. “Do you want to come?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “We already formally met at the meeting yesterday, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to see each other again later this evening.”

“That was a formal meeting, “Arya pointed out. “This will be informal. After all, with Jon being King, that makes us both Princesses, right? So, in a way, we are royalty as well. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

By now, Sansa knew of Arya’s ‘game of faces,’ where she could read the real thoughts of someone by reading what face they made. Littlefinger did something similar, Sansa remembers, although it was more of a ‘game of words.’ He taught her to watch and learn what people did and didn’t say; to work what their real motives were.

_‘What could Arya want…?’_ Sansa wondered. _‘No doubt Jon maybe told her about me agreeing to try and be welcoming to the Dragon Queen. If I refuse, it looks suspicious. But, at the same time, I can’t look too over eager or else Arya will know I’m faking it.’_

“I suppose I could go,” Sansa finally said aloud. “I could ask the Dragon Queen about what she plans to contribute to our stores for the winter.”

Arya gave a thin, knife-like smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

Sansa said nothing. However, inwardly she prayed that Jon had enough sense to leave the Dragon Queen’s chambers before sunrise, else a Northern Lord catches him in bed with the enemy. Literally.

They reached the Dragon Queen’s chambers, four Unsullied standing at attention in front of her doors. Sansa thought they looked so; still, one might mistake them for statues. She didn’t even think they blinked. Yet, their amber eyes followed the Stark sisters as they stood in front of the soldiers.

“We are here to speak with your Queen,” Arya shouted.

None of the Unsullied replied.

Arya arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Did you not hear me? I said we are here to speak to your Queen?”

Again, no answer.

Sansa saw Arya’s hand tighten upon the hilt of her dagger. She knew that it didn’t intervene; then, someone was going to get stabbed, and it would lead to even more trouble.

“Perhaps they do not speak the Common Tongue,” Sansa suggested to Arya. “After all, they are from Essos. Perhaps they do not speak the Common Tongue there.”

“What do you suggest we do then?” Arya asked. “Barge our way in?”

Sansa shook her head. “No… that wouldn’t be the diplomatic way…” She paused to think. “Wait. Where is the Chief Handmaiden to the…Targaryen Queen? Dark skin, light-green eyes? She speaks the Common Tongue.”

“Missandei?” a deep voice said behind the Stark Sisters.

Sansa and Arya turned to find an Unsullied soldier standing behind them. He was dressed in the casual light-armor of his men, yet wore a silver three-headed dragon pin on his shoulder. Unlike the other men, his helmet was under his arm, not on his head.

“If that is her name, then yes,” Sansa replied, not attempting to sit the name else she butchers it terribly.

The Unsullied Solider – Sansa figured he was high in rank because of his pin – narrowed his eyes. “What do you want with Missandei?”

“We don’t want her,” Sansa explained, surprised he spoke the Common Tongue. “We thought she could translate for us. We wished to speak with your...Queen.”

“Mhysa is in her chambers preparing letters to put on blackbirds,” the Unsullied Commander replied. “I was summoned to take them to where they belong.”

“Can we come with you?” Arya asked. “Sansa and I wanted to greet her formally. In a non-formal way, of course.”

The Unsullied Commander looked between the two of them, Sansa realized he was calculating the threat she and Arya might pose to his Queen. She didn’t have weapons, but Arya, on the other hand... He gave a small nod, the Unsullied standing guard taking a small step to the right. Sansa listened to him say something to the soldiers, then gestured for Sansa and Arya to follow him inside.

* * *

Sansa felt as if she had entered an oven, the moment she stepped into the Dragon Queen’s chambers. Sweat beaded on her brow, the Stark Lady fanned herself to prevent from passing out from the heat.

“What’s the matter, Sansa?” Arya teased. “Feeling faint?”

“I don’t believe in being cooked alive,” Sansa retorted.

While Sansa had thought nothing could be hotter than the South in summer, she hadn’t even entered the inner chambers of a Targaryen. Besides the roaring fires in the hearth, there were several smaller braziers placed in critical locations around the chamber that made it a bubble of warmth.

The Dragon Queen sat behind a large oak desk in the corner of the chamber. Bent over it, she appeared to be writing a raven scroll, one of many, Sansa saw, as there was a small mountain of them next to her.

“Your Grace,” the Unsullied Commander said, kneeling before the Dragon Queen’s desk.

“Rise, Grey Worm,” the Dragon Queen said, lifting her head from her work. “I’m almost finished.”

The Dragon Queen had a soft, gentle voice, Sansa realized. She didn’t even look that intimidating if Sansa was honest. She was short, slender, yet athletically built. What intrigued Sansa the most, however, was how the Dragon Queen dressed. When she arrived, the Dragon Queen wore what Sansa thought was a dress, as it looked like a dress in its style; only it wasn’t, it was a coat.

The Dragon Queen was dressed in a simple, long-sleeve linen shirt, tucked into a pair of breeches that were, in turn, tucked into a pair of knee-high black boots. The linen shirt looked to be well made, as were the breeches. The Dragon Queen’s hair was pulled over in a simple braid, which fell over her shoulder.

She looked so… elegant, serine. Yet, when the Dragon Queen raised her violet eyes to look at them, Sansa saw there was a fire there.

This woman was a survivor.

This woman had had the worst possible things done to her and still survived.

This woman was used to fighting. She had come too far, sacrificed too much to give up now.

“I didn’t know to be expecting guests,” the Dragon Queen said, standing up. “Forgive me. I’m not properly dressed.”

“It is alright,” Sansa said. “We didn’t mean to just… drop by unannounced.”

Arya stepped forward, holding out her arm. “We didn’t meet when you arrived, nor did we meet at the Great Hall. I’m Arya.”

The Dragon Queen quickly extended her hand, shaking Arya’s without hesitation or disgust. “The honor is mine, Lady Arya. Or wait, since your brother is the King, I suppose the proper title is Princess, is it not?”

Arya shrugged. “If I'm honest, I prefer neither. You can just call me Arya.”

The Dragon Queen smiled, perfect white teeth gleaming. “Well then, ‘Just Arya,’ you can call me Daenerys. If you want, of course.”

“Not Your Grace?” Arya asked. “Or one of your hundreds of other titles.”

This time, the Dragon Queen shrugged. “While I am not invalidating my titles, those were titles I gained in Essos. I’m not in Essos. I want the people of Westeros to decide if they want me as their Queen, and that means names of titles they give me.”

Arya nodded, but Sansa’s blue eyes were unreadable, her face passive.

“You don’t look much like a queen, dressed like that,” Arya said, nodding to the Dragon Queen’s casual wear.

The Dragon Queen chuckled. “In Essos, I had to learn to be as comfortable in roughest of linen breeches as I was in the softest of silks. Over time, while I wear dresses and gowns during formal meetings, I always feel my freest in breeches.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Arya’s lips. “Which is understandable.”

To Sansa's horror, the Dragon Queen then turned to speak to her. “Forgive me for not greeting you sooner, Princess Sansa.”

Sansa took a breath, putting on her warmest of smiles. “No forgiveness is needed, Your Grace. You did nothing wrong. You met me already, not my sister.”

“It still an honor to speak with you,” the Dragon Queen said. “Forgive me a moment. I have to speak with Grey Worm.”

Sansa watched as the Dragon Queen took the small mountain of letters and handed them to the one called ‘Grey Worm.’ Revolting title, Sansa believed. The Dragon Queen said something in a weird, musical tongue, this ‘Grey Worm’ bowed, then swept out of the room.

Some part of Sansa wanted to follow him, to try and trick him into seeing if she could get one of those letters. For all she knew, those letters were calling the Dragon Queen’s allies to come and attack the North. Sansa had to be prepared for anything if Jon’s head was too soft to realize the danger they were all in.

“That’s an interesting dagger,” the Dragon Queen suddenly said, tearing Sansa from her thoughts.

Sansa turned around, watching as Arya puffed out her chest. Slowly, Arya unsheathed the dagger, doing the flipping trick she did with Sansa, before holding out the handle.

The Dragon Queen took it, her violet eyes growing wide. Carefully, she fingered the blade, murmuring something under her breath as she examined the handle and grip.

“This is amazing…” The Dragon Queen whispered. “Valyrian steel? Correct?”

Arya smirked. “Correct. The handle is dragonglass as well.”

“Powerful weapon. Something tells me that it’s in the best of hands,” the Dragon Queen said, handing it back to Arya.

Sansa cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I wanted to ask what you might contribute to our stores. We do not know how long the winter will last. We also have more soldiers, no doubt coming our way, so we need to gather as much food as possible.”

The Dragon Queen nodded. “Of course. I spoke to your brother, the King, and we came to an agreement. Half of the food that my soldiers brought we will give to your stores to be saved. My men will keep the other half. If more is needed, your King and I will renegotiate.”

“That’s…very generous,” Sansa said slowly. “Very, generous.”

“I want to do the best I can for the people here,” The Dragon Queen replied. “And if that means giving up half my food to make sure they can eat, then I will do it. A Queen does what is good for her people.”

Arya nodded. “I have a question. So, you have two dragons. Can you take on its back…passengers?”

Sansa’s head jerked around. “What?”

The Dragon Queen tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Arya put her hands behind her back. “Growing up, I read books about the warrior queen, Visenya. How she rode her dragon into battle, swinging her sword and fighting ton conquer Westeros alongside her brother and sister. I’ve always dreamed of riding a dragon.”

The Dragon Queen tapped her chin, silent a moment. “I have to see if they will tolerate strangers. But… if they can, how about we make a deal. If my dragons allow it, I will take you for a flight.”

Sansa crossed her arms. “And what do you want in return?”

“Sword lessons,” the Dragon Queen replied, nodding to the weapons at Arya’s side. “I’ll be going into battle after all. I need to know how to use a weapon.”

Arya smiled. “It’s a deal.”

Sansa didn’t like where this was going. She didn’t like how comfortable Arya was becoming around the Dragon Queen. The woman already had Sansa’s brother in her bed. Now she was seducing Arya with dragon riding? The pack was abandoning her.

“I hope that you forgive me, Your Grace, but I have a meeting with the Northern Lords,” Sansa interrupted. “I’m sure that Arya has things to do as well.”

If the Dragon Queen knew Sansa was trying to wiggle her way out of her chambers, she didn’t say. Instead, she merely nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry for keeping you. Arya, when do you want to begin our lessons?”

“Does tomorrow sound good?” Arya asked. “Dress how you are now, although a little thicker in the shirt.”

The Dragon Queen nodded. “Perfect with me. Thank you.”

Arya gave a small bow, dipping her head respectfully before turning around and walking to the door.

Sansa merely gave a small nod, then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, everyone!
> 
> Got a new chapter for you, this time we go into Sansa's head. Keynote, in this book, watch how people address/think of people. Sansa called Daenerys 'The Dragon Queen' or the 'Targaryen Queen' because that's all she knows her to be. Slowly, as they become friends, they'll become more familiar with each other.
> 
> Next chapter we go down to King's Landing to get into Cersei's head, see what the Lannister Lioness has been up too.
> 
> Toodles!


	5. CHAPTER V – CERSEI

Cersei had always hated King’s Landing.

From the dirty streets to the even nastier peasants. As a child, she used to idolize the city—the city where Aegon the Conqueror landed and founded his infamous dynasty. The greatest kings in the history of Westeros walked through these halls, the most beautiful princesses, the most handsome of princes.

Now, that great dynasty was gone. Living on as a wet dream of a whore from Essos, who didn’t know her place in this world.

_‘It didn’t have to be this way,’ Cersei thought. ‘If only the Mad King had seen the truth…if only my Silver Prince had been smart enough to see that I was the only one worthy of him. Not that Wildling Slut, but for me, the Light of the West…’_

Everything had been planned. Everything was already set into place. Cersei would marry Rhaegar. She would bring the Lannister Line into the Royal House where they belonged… But now. The Wildling Slut ruined it all.

Somehow, She bewitched Cersei’s Silver Prince and ran away with him. When Robert’s Rebellion happened, Cersei was forced to marry the winner. Cersei thought herself on top. She thought that now that she was Queen, she would have everything she’d ever want.

But she was wrong.

Robert whispered the Wildling Slut’s name as he finished. Robert didn’t give her any political power; all he wanted was Cersei to bare him, sons. Cersei gave him sons alright. She gave Robert golden-haired sons with pure Lannister blood. Thought Joffrey, House Lannister would have forever taken its rightful place in the world, as the Lion King’s they were meant to be.

But those dammed Wolves got in the way.

Robert’s dammed loyalty and friendship to the Wildling Slut’s brother got in the way.

Once again, Cersei was pushed aside, forced to play second fiddle to someone beneath her.

It wasn’t Cersei’s nature. It went against everything Tywin had taught his children.

_‘Yet look at me now,’_ Cersei thought. _‘Queen of Westeros, the true Queen. I have all the power. I have all the men under my heel. Everything belongs to me and me alone.’_

Cersei suddenly let out a subtle grunt, her green eyes glaring down at Qyburn.

Her Hand cleared his throat, carefully pulling Cersei’s robe down to cover her legs as he stood to his feet. Qyburn walked over to a basin, cleaning his hands as he nodded for Cersei to sit up.

“Forgive me if I caused discomfort during the examination, Your Grace,” Qyburn said. “I did not mean it.”

“What did you feel or see?” Cersei asked, clutching her robe tight in her fist.

“Nothing that could explain the pain or internal cramps you’ve been feeling lately, Your Grace,” Qyburn replied. “Your stomach is still firm, and from what I felt, your womb is growing with your heir. Have you been taking the drafts I’ve been making you?”

Cersei nodded. Her hand went to her stomach, almost as if to feel her unborn. She had just passed her fourth moon, and although Cersei’s stomach wasn’t all the way rounded, it was beginning to swell.

Every day, Cersei would wake and inspect herself in the mirror. She would try and measure with her hands on how her body was changing. From the widening of her hips to the swelling of her breasts, Cersei’s body was preparing itself for the birth of this babe.

_‘Not a simple babe,’_ Cersei reminded herself. _‘My heir. The last hope for my House. The legacy that Father wanted now relies on me. It relies on this babe. Born of pure Lannister blood, none shall be it’s equal.’_

Yet, in the back of Cersei’s mind, a tiny flicker of the past tried to wheedle its way forward.

Cersei remembered how Jaime always loved it when she was pregnant. While Robert would take her pregnancies as leeway for him to spend more time with his whores, it only made Jaime even more tender. It inflamed his desire for her. Cersei remembered how Jaime loved to take her from behind. Their hands pressed together against her growing belly.

But now, there was no Jaime.

There was no Robert to ignore.

It was just Cersei, Qyburn, and this babe. This legacy. This chance for a new beginning. Everything relied on this child being born healthy and happy, and Cersei was more than willing to put up with whatever unholy tonics Qyburn made in his quarters for that to happen.

“Any news from the wall?” Cersei asked, standing to her feet. “Or about the Dragon Whore and her Pet?”

Qyburn shook his head. “My Little Birds do not like the cold, so it is difficult for information to travel at the pace it used too. But do not worry, Your Grace, I have my eyes, everywhere.”

Cersei nodded. “Good, make sure to inform me the moment anything arrives. What about the Iron Fleet?”

“They would be returning from Essos any day now, Your Grace,” Qyburn replied. “What are your plans for…Euron?”

“Do what I normally do with men,” Cersei said. “Use him until he has no value to me. Then, I shall gift him to the Mountain. Or, if you want, I’ll give him to you as a plaything.”

Qyburn’s thin lips spread into a smile. “As grateful as I’d be for that…my true desire is to become…acquainted with the Dragon Queen.”

Cersei smirked. “If all goes well, you’ll have plenty of toys to play with. Speaking of which, I believe I should take a short trip to the dungeons, see how our ‘guests’ are fairing…”

Two days later, Cersei sat on the Iron Throne, listening to petitioners.

As Queen, it was her duty to listen to her people…but Cersei always found these preceding so boring.

So, what if a raggedy child stole a loaf of bread? Cut the boy’s hands-off, Cersei would say.

So, what if the fields are producing enough grain? Just move to another plot of land, Cersei would say.

All these matters were beneath Cersei’s mind eye. She should be preparing for war against the Dragon Whore and her pet. That’s where Cersei’s mind should be.

“My Little Birds have finally reached me with information about the North…” Qyburn whispered into Cersei’s ear.

Cersei perked up. “Do tell.”

“The Wall has fallen,” Qyburn confirmed. “Which could only mean that the Dead are marching south…”

“How soon until they reach that ice-box of a castle?” Cersei asked.

“A couple of weeks, I’d say,” Qyburn replied.

Cersei smirked. ‘Perfect…Everything is slowly coming together. With the Dragon Whore and her Pet occupied with their Dead, my eyes and heart will be here. Fortifying my defenses. Whoever wins will have to face me, and even if I lose, there is always a manner of escape.’

Cersei’s thoughts were interrupted by a servant running into the hall. Dropping to their knees before the Iron Throne, Cersei nodded for them to speak.

“The Iron Fleet has entered the harbor,” the Servant said. “Lord Euron’s ship is heading for the banks.”

Cersei’s smile grew even wider. “And the Golden Company?”

“From what I could tell, the ships hold several thousands of men in the bellies,” the Servant replied. “Shall Lord Euron be led into the city gates?”

“Yes,” Cersei said nodding. “Have him, and the Golden Company Commander brought here immediately.”

The Servant bowed and hurried off to do her bidding.

“Petitions are now closed,” Cersei announced. “They will continue on a later date.”

The lines for petitions stretched out the door, and the people began to protest. However, the moment the Mountain stepped forward with his sword, they all scattered like ants.

Cersei chuckled, smoothing out her gown as the heralds announced Euron Greyjoy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Cersei chapters are always the hardest for me.
> 
> We didn't get a lot of Cersei in Season 7/8 so I don't have a lot to work with. I also REALLY don't like her, although I ADORE Lena! It's pretty short, as all my Cersei-chapters are; but I want to try and write longer ones later.
> 
> I do have a question: what do you guys prefer? Shorter chapters around 1k-3k that are written quickly, or longer chapters pushing 5k+ words that take longer to write? I'm interested in what you have to say! How you guys reply will determine how I write the next chapter, as it's JAIME'S CHAPTER!!
> 
> So excited to get to work on him!
> 
> Until next time my friends!


	6. CHAPTER VI – TYRION

Tyrion could still remember the first time he had come to Winterfell. At the time, he was known only as the ‘Imp,’ the second-born son of the infamous Tywin Lannister. He drank and whored his way among the King’s Road, as was befitting his status. Unlike his siblings, Tyrion found the Northern landscape to hold a rare beauty, as it was still virtually untouched after thousands of years.

Now, Tyrion had returned to the lands as the Hand of the Dragon Queen. Those that hated Daenerys would hate him in return, and Tyrion…well, Tyrion didn’t exactly care. No, that wasn’t the truth. Tyrion had learned a long time ago not to care what people thought of him, but he did care what they thought of Daenerys. They already believed her to be a witch, as the daughter of the Mad King, so Tyrion was going to have to figure out how to brighten up her image.

There was one person in all of Westeros that Tyrion knew would be the best in handling this. Varys.

Tyrion found Varys in his chambers, scribbling down notes on small pieces of paper. All around Varys were children Tyrion believed to be no older than twelve years of age, to whom Varys passed the letters ad notes to.

“I thought you had abandoned your Little Birds,” Tyrion remarked, closing the door behind him.

“That’s exactly what I wanted your Sister and that fool Qyburn to think,” Varys replied, not looking up. “Did you think that I’d give up the spy network I had spent a lifetime building? There isn’t a region in Westeros where my Little birds can’t flutter.”

“Good point,” Tyrion chuckled, walking to a flagon of wine. “So, I’m guessing you know all that is happening in King’s Landing?”

“And the rest of Westeros,” Varys said, handing the last note to a young girl. “I’m glad you came, my friend. We need to talk.”

The children all filed out of the room, clutching their letters to their chests and assignments in their hearts.

Tyrion wondered where they all might be going. The Reach perhaps, maybe even as far as Dorne. The Spider’s web was vast and intricate, Varys wouldn’t give up his life’s work so easily.

“What do we need to talk about?” Tyrion asked, helping himself to the wine.

“The Queen and the Bastard King,” Varys replied, blunt as always. “I’m sure you know that they’re lovers.”

Tyrion struggled to keep his face passive. He knew Daenerys and Jon were lovers. After all, he had seen Jon slip into Daenerys’s chambers that first night on the ship from Dragonstone.

“Yes,” Tyrion said, giving a small nod before downing a goblet of wine, pouring himself another. “I won’t even ask how you knew. What did you do, inspect their sheets?”

“The Queen’s Handmaids aren’t the only ones who tend to her personal belongings and needs,” Varys revealed. He leaned back in his chair. “But we’re not here to discuss the bedroom activities of our Queen. Who Daenerys shares her bed with is her prerogative. But, as her advisors, we need to do our jobs and tell her if she’s making foolish decisions.”

Tyrion arched an eyebrow. “You believe that what she’s doing is foolish?”

“Gods no,” Varys snorted. “I think how they are going about it is foolish.”

“I don’t see why,” Tyrion said. “Kings and Queens take lovers all the time in the world.”

“Westeros always believes that Daenerys will go mad as her Father at the flip of a coin,” Varys pointed out. “The last thing we need is the people of this region believing she’s seduced their King for her benefit. Do you remember what I told you about Power?”

“That it resides where people believe it does,” Tyrion replied.

Varys nodded. “Jon might be crowned King in the North, but he’s still a bastard. What’s to stop the Northern Lords putting one of his sisters on the throne? They are women, women who can be easily married to a supporter of their choosing and bare heirs.”

Tyrion frowned. That was a serious accusation. Tyrion didn’t think that it wasn’t possible, but he knew Varys was the man who always looked at the bigger picture. His friend did have a point. Jon only had Power as long as the Northern Lord supported him. What was to stop them from looking to his sisters, both of whom were trueborn instead of baseborn.

“What do you suggest I do then, tell Daenerys to abandon her lover?” Tyrion asked. “You know her as well as I, neither of us wants to be on the receiving end of the Dragon’s rage. Besides, she’s stubborn and might not listen to us.”

“Then we have to present the idea in favorable terms to her, as well as he,” Varys replied. “He’s a king, and she is a queen. What if they did what kings and queens have done for thousands of years: marry.”

Tyrion almost dropped his goblet.

Daenerys and Jon, being lovers, was one thing. But marriage? That was a new and very complicated step. Although it seemed like the right answer to all their situation, friendship would arise plenty of problems on its own.

“The Northern Lords won’t agree to it,” Tyrion said bluntly.

Varys arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“They’ll think that she’s seduced him, as you said,” Tyrion pointed out. “And there is nothing more hated in this world than a smart woman who knows her worth.”

“We have to come up with a plan somehow, to make it work,” Varys said. “Because eventually, no matter how ‘careful’ they might be, the product of being lovers will come. How will Daenerys handle being the Queen of Westeros, while also having a bastard child? No Lord in Westeros would follow the babe.”

“Daenerys can’t have children,” Tyrion blurted out before he could stop himself.

Varys arched an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Tyrion sighed, wanting to bite his tongue off. “When we were still in Meereen…Daenerys told me that she couldn’t have children. Something about a witch, cursing her after murdering her first husband.”

“Magic,” Varys scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Disgusting practice… But do we have proof of this?”

“She had a lover in Meereen, that I know,” Tyrion replied. “They were together for some time, and she bore no children. Nor do I believe she drank any moon tea.”

“Then, for all we know, it was the fault of her lover,” Varys said.

Tyrion arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“There are plenty of ways for men to prevent giving a woman a child,” Varys explained. “Just as women drink Moon Tea, there are other herbs that do the trick but for men. Also, some men just don’t produce the seed necessary to make children.”

“And you know this…how…?” Tyrion asked.

Varys gave him a small smile. “You learn a lot, growing up on the streets of Pentos. From what it sounds like, this lover in Meereen did not desire children at some point in his life and maybe for an operation to prevent them from coming or took herbs.”

That sounded like something Daario would do, Tyrion believed. He was the Captain of the Second Sons, the last thing he would need is a bastard child weighing him down.

“So, if what you say is true, then it might only be a matter of time until Jon places a babe inside of the Queen, and we have to be ready,” Tyrion said. “A child with royal blood is no simple matter.”

“I will need a moment to gather information and figure out a plan,” Varys said. “This might be easier than we think. According to my Little bird, for too long, the North believed itself ignored by the rest of Westeros. Perhaps a union between it’s King and the Queen will calm matters between the two lands.”

“But I doubt that the Northern Lords would want the South poking their noses into their politics and lands,” Tyrion pointed out.

“Yet, I’m sure the North will want the food the Reach provides and other recourses,” Varys counted. “This land is the most ancient, yet least developed. A union with the South will help it.”

“I doubt the Northern Lords would welcome such changes with open arms…” Tyrion grumbled.

Varys smirked. “That, my dear friend, is our job. Everyone has secrets, and everyone has desires. All we have to do is uncover it.”

* * *

The following morning after Tyrion had broken his fast; the Dwarf went for a walk among the walls of the castle. From this height, Tyrion could oversee the construction of the defenses, as well as observe how the two factions were getting along.

Unsullied and Dothraki worked side-by-side, shoveling snow and rocks, carrying large wooden logs and planks. Grey Worm was overseeing the construction of what Tyrion believed was some type of trap, in which a rope could be pulled and spiked logs infused with dragonglass would rise up and stop the advancing dead army. It was smart, Tyrion believed, he just hoped that it would work.

Yet, at the same time, Tyrion could see the Northern soldiers keeping their distance from those that followed Daenerys. This couldn’t stand. They were the only hope of saving the world of the living, of beating back this icy evil. Everyone had to work together.

As Tyrion rounded a corner, he came face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see right now: Sansa.

The Lady of Winterfell stood on one of the stone balconies, looking down at the construction below.

A lump formed in Tyrion’s throat.

Since he had arrived, Tyrion had been avoiding Sansa as best as he could. Then again, Tyrion believed that Sans was doing the same thing as she didn’t seek him out or speak to him. The woman that stood before Tyrion wasn’t the little girl he remembered years ago. Gone was the girl who loved frilly dresses and looked at the world with wide, hopeful eyes. In her place stood someone as hard as a stone, eyes as cold as ice, a mouth firmly tightened in a thin-line.

“Good morning, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa suddenly said.

Tyrion almost jumped. He was going to slowly walk in the opposite direction, hoping she would ignore him. But now, since she had spoken, Tyrion was forced to be civil.

“Good morning, Lady Sansa,” Tyrion said. “How are you doing?”

“As one can expect,” Sansa replied, her eyes not pulling from the courtyard below her.

Tyrion frowned. He could have easily ended the conversation with, ‘I’ll not disturb you,’ yet his curiosity was peaked. He wondered what was so interesting that Sansa couldn’t pull her eyes from it to speak to him. So, Tyrion walked over and peeked over the side of the balcony.

Jon and Daenerys.

Of course.

The Royal Couple were inspecting several pieces of wood and metal, that would be placed into several other traps around Winterfell. Although their faces were nothing more than professional since Tyrion knew of their affair, he could catch glimpses of what others might not see. For instance, Jon’s arms might reach out as if to wrap around Daenerys’s waist, only for Jon to change his mind at the last moment and pick something up. Or, Daenerys might oh so subtly brush her hip against Jon’s, one might see it as an accident.

At the same time, the workers and soldiers around the two watched this interaction as well. Tyrion didn’t even know he was holding his breath until Sansa spoke again.

“So, when will we expect your sister’s armies to join us?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion blinked. “Excuse me?”

Sansa looked at Tyrion outside of the corner of her eye. “When I was a child, I thought you were the smartest man in the world. Now, I see that I was mistaken. You’re a fool to trust your sister.”

Tyrion staggered back as if he had been physically struck. The Dwarf was shocked at how poisonous Sansa’s words were. What had happened to that little girl…? As far as Tyrion knew, he had done nothing to earn her hatred. Could it be that he was a Lannister? That he served as Daenerys’s Hand? Both could have easily been the cause.

“That’s because I don’t,” Tyrion interjected, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. “I trust my sister as far as I can through her. But as for my Brother, I trust Jaime with my life.”

“Right,” Sansa scoffed, her lips curving into a faint smile. “The Kingslayer.”

“Your father has called him that all your life, hasn’t he?” Tyrion asked. “Did he ever tell you why Jaime has that title?”

“Because he murdered his king,” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes.

“Because Jaime murdered the king that spent his days burning innocents, and his night raping his wife,” Tyrion snapped. “That day, Aerys was going to burn down all of King’s Landing. Men. Women. Children. Aerys was going to kill them all if only to stop my father from taking the city. So, what was my brother supposed to do? Let is all happen?”

Sansa’s lips pressed together tightly, Tyrion would see the wheels in her head turning. She jerked her head away, looking back at the silver and black heads below.

“She has everyone perfectly fooled,” Sansa said. “Hiding her true face behind his mask of innocence.”

“And what, pray tell, is Daenerys’s true face?” Tyrion asked.

“That she is the Mad King’s Daughter,” Sansa replied. “That she would kill us all, kill Jon, just to keep the throne. It’s her plan, isn’t it? Pretend to be nice, to help us with the Night King, then murder us all once it’s all over.”

Tyrion frowned. “How have you gotten that perception of a woman you’ve bearly known for a week?”

“She’s a Targaryen,” Sansa replied as if that was all the reasoning in the world.

“And I’m a Lannister, and you’re a Stark,” Tyrion shot back. “Both of our families have enough blood on our hands to fill a lake. If we're honest, Daenerys’s family just might have the least amount.”

Sansa scoffed again. “The North will never accept the daughter of the man who killed its warden.”

“In which Daenerys had no part of executing,” Tyrion pointed out. “She wasn’t even conceived yet. Blood feuds, if anyone has any excuse to possess on, it is Daenerys. She could have easily flown here on her two dragons and demanded your surrender. But she didn’t, and do you know why? Because Daenerys is not an oppressor. She doesn’t want to force people to follow her. She wants them to choose her.”

“Which the North will never do,” Sansa argued.

“Yes, it will,” Tyrion said. “Because their only other option is Cersei, who we both know would rather leave you all to rot. Daenerys is here. She brought her armies, she brought her dragons, to help you. The least you could be, Sansa, is grateful for it.”

“I thank her for giving us her recourses in a battle that would eventually come to her doorstep anyway, in the future,” Sansa said, choosing her words carefully.

Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose. “The girl I knew, years ago, would be happy to have someone that she could bond with. I believe the two of you could easily become friends. Maybe you should open your mind a bit, instead of behind such a woman with a heart made of stone.”

* * *

Later that evening, Tyrion walked to Daenerys’s chambers for their nightly conversation as Hand and Queen.

Every time Tyrion was alone with Daenerys, he always felt…uncomfortable. He knew it was because he felt some twinge of desire for her, who wouldn’t? But Tyrion knew that wouldn’t ever come to anything. At the same time, Daenerys could be quite intimidating; after all, she was the Mother of Dragons, the Dothraki’s ‘Great Khalessi,’ and Mhysa to the Unsullied and all the Eossi that came with them.

It would be easy for anyone to be cowed in her presence, although deep down, Tyrion knew the young woman was humble. And even when she got cocky, Tyrion knew how to reign her in.

The Unsullied guards let in Tyrion into Daenerys’s chambers with a simple nod, having gotten used to the Dwarf by now. Inside the room, Missandei and Daenerys’s other Handmaidens fluttered around like butterflies, going about their duties. A table was being laid out for a light dinner, which Tyrion thought meant that Jon Snow was arriving soon.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Tyrion asked Missandei. “Will the Queen be…occupied soon.”

The Naathi shook her head, knowing of whom he spoke. “Not tonight. The Queen is just finishing her bath and will be out in a moment. She told us to prepare dinner for your talk.”

Tyrion was shocked. From what he recalled, Jon Snow and Daenerys always had dinner together. Although how they managed it with so many eyes in this castle was beyond him. Yet, he didn’t question it.

“Oh, thank you,” Tyrion said. “Where’s the wine.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough wine today,” the teasing voice of Daenerys said behind him.

Tyrion quickly turned around and bowed, rising with Daenerys tapped in on the shoulder.

His Queen wore a woolen nightgown dyed red, under a black-furred overcoat. Red and black. The colors of her House. Although the outfight might be considered simple, Tyrion knew it’s meaning. Daenerys wanted all to know her purpose. She wanted all to know that she was here, leading the forces of House Targaryen to protect the living. She, the one True Queen.

“I last had wine about…four hours ago, Your Grace,” Tyrion replied, giving her a small smile. “Thus, I am due another goblet.”

Daenerys made a silly face, her violet eyes sparkling. “I’m sorry then to say that you’ll find no wine in my chambers tonight. It tastes sour on my tongue, although Missandei had made me fruit juice and sweet water. Unless you want to risk getting a goblet of Northern Ale…”

Tyrion’s face was one of horror. When they had first arrived, one of the Northern Lords had gifted Tyrion and Daenerys with a cask of their infamous ale. Daenerys took one sniff and almost passed out, Tyrion gulped down a mouthful and had the worst hangover possible for two days. No way was he going to risk that again.

“I’ll take the fruit juice,” Tyrion replied quickly.

Daenerys smiled and nodded to the table, the two sitting down at opposite ends of it.

Before Tyrion was a simple meal of a roasted half duck, green vegetables, and potatoes, although it was heavily seasoned with the spices of Meereen. The bread was also made fresh and made a nice crunch when Tyrion ripped it in half.

Daenerys began to cut into her duck. “Have you been to see Varys, recently?”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes, I have. According to him, his Little Birds report that neither Cersei nor Qyburn knows that they are still loyal to him. They have fluttered all over Westeros, keeping an eye on everything.”

“And does he have anything important to report?” Daenerys asked.

“At the moment, no,” Tyrion replied. “But, when I went, he was sending out his Birds for various assignments. I’m sure the information will come soon.”

Daenerys nodded, chewing her duck slowly, her brow wrinkled in thought. “I could use your advice, Tyrion. I need to win these people. I thought that if they saw me with their King…it would open their hearts a little more.”

Tyrion sighed. He knew that them coming to the North was going to be a war on two front. If they weren’t going to be fighting the living dead, then they would be fighting the Northerners themselves.

“People are stubborn,” Tyrion replied. “And unfortunately, you’re not in a favorable light with the people here. You’re the daughter of the Man who killed their beloved Warden. You come at the head of an army almost 100,000 strong. You bring two fully grown dragons. You’re a threat that they’ve never seen before.”

“But I do not want to be a threat to them,” Daenerys replied. “Yes, I bring all that you say, but I also bring food and clothing. I also being medicine and knowledge from minds outside of Westeros.”

“And while that is good, you can’t expect it to win over people whos culture hasn't changed over thousands of years,” Tyrion pointed out. “You have to…play them at their own game.”

Daenerys inclined her head. “What do you mean?”

“Being seen with Jon Snow isn’t going to be enough,” Tyrion explained. “You have to go for the rest of the Stark Family. House Targaryen killed two important members of House Stark. You must swallow your pride and cater to them.”

“So, I’m to bow my head to them?” Daenerys snapped.

Tyrion would see a brief flair of the Dragon’s Rage and knew he had to choose his next words carefully.

“Not…exactly,” Tyrion said slowly. “Befriend them. Be with them. The boy Bran is in a wheelchair, so have one crafted for him. The girl Arya loves to play with swords; I’m sure you could have something made for her.”

“And as for Sansa and Jon?” Daenerys asked.

“Jon…I’m pretty sure you have that under control,” Tyrion replied, trying to not chuckle at how Daenerys’s face turned bright pink. “And as for Sansa…connect with her. You two are quite alike, I’m sure.”

“Going to be a bit difficult if she avoids me all the time,” Daenerys sighed. “And constantly gives me the cold shoulder, the same with her Ladies and Lords. She also is very passive-aggressive, every time she speaks to me.”

“Then corner her,” Tyrion suggested. “You’re a queen, remember? She’s duty-bound to stay and talk to you. Or else she’d risk causing an international incident. Her mother would have taught her the Southern ways, I’m sure, in which you must respect a monarch.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, Tyrion would see his words were soaking into her brain. Good.

“As for the rest of the people, they will be like sheep, lead by a ram,” Tyrion continued. “In which that ram being House Stark. You align them to your side, then that is one key alliance you have. After we defeat the dead, we will turn to the rest of Westeros.”

Daenerys’s violet eyes rested on him. “You know, you’re a lot smarter when you’re sober.”

Tyrion chuckled. “I try not to make it a habit…But, your words honor me, Your Grace.”

Daenerys began to fiddle with her fork. “Back to…Back to Jon a moment.” She took a deep breath. “I worry about what will happen once the Dead was defeated.”

Tyrion arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“The only reason that we are together is that he needed an ally to fight this war,” Daenerys replied. “But once the Dead are gone, and I defeat Cersei…What happens next.”

_‘You and he marry, of course_ ,’ Tyrion wanted to say. Yet now wasn’t the time. It made the most logical of sense, of course. The King in the North to marry the Queen in the South. But still, marriage came with problems all it’s own. Tyrion doubted the North would want it’s King always in the South, let alone a Southern Queen sticking her nose in their way of life. Tyrion was going to have to figure a compromise for both sides before he could even suggest such a thing.

“When we were on Dragonstone, and I rose the question of your successor, you told me that we would speak about it later,” Tyrion finally said. “And so, we will do exactly that. Speak upon it later. I would much rather see you crowned and reigning as Queen of Westeros, first.”

Daenerys nodded, a small smile on her lip. “I agree.”

Tyrion smiled before his face then turned serious. “Good. Now, can we please get some wine?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I know, it's been a while since I've posted a chapter. Life has been getting in the way and I've suddenly realized that I have a LOT of FanFiction and I've been neglecting them all. So, I've decided to cycle through them, posting a chapter on at least 2 a week.
> 
> BUT BACK TO THIS FANFICTION! So, I decided to post a Tyrion Chapter, and I must say it was fun to write him. It was good to see the world through someone else's eyes, who was given the backseat treatment for seasons 7 and 8. He and Varys are important characters, so I hope to give them their due. Also, Varys dropping Dany like a hot pocket the moment he heard about Jon makes like ZERO sense; and won't happen in this story. He'll feel conflicted but know better.
> 
> Planted some sees for important scenes coming later in the book. Keynote and change: Tyrion knows that Cersei can't be trusted but hopes for his Brother to help them. Speaking of Jaime, we get his POV next chapter! I can't wait!
> 
> TTYL everyone!


	7. CHAPTER VII – JON

Jon stood on a balcony, watching the men below. The official battlements had begun to be built, with Northmen, Dothraki, and Unsullied working to get it done. But even though they were working together, a blind man could see the divide between the groups.

The Northmen were on one side, and Daenerys’s forces were on the other. A thick tension was between the two, glares and spits of distaste were evenly traded.

“I was wondering where you were,” Daenerys said, appearing behind him.

Jon’s heart flipped at the sight of his love, giving Daenerys a small smile. Today, Daenerys was dressed in black and red furs, the color of her House. Jon was glad that Daenerys was doing this, taking pride in her House. Sansa could take pride in being a Stark. Why couldn’t Daenerys take pride in being a Targaryen?

“You weren’t in bed this morning,” Daenerys continued, moving to stand at his side.

The couple was far enough of way from the people below not to hear, but then again, Jon knew they had to be careful. Who knew which House’s servants were lurking around?

More than once, Arya had taught a servant from House Glover lurking around Jon’s chambers. Rather than kill the man and causing a scandal, as Arya wanted, Jon instead threatened him. They scared him with Arya’s face-stealing ability and sending him away with false information. But they still had to be careful.

“You know I’m an early riser,” Jon replied. “I also wanted to oversee the battlements below.”

Daenerys looked out in the courtyard, watching as trenches were dug and wood was being chopped. She could sense the tension between both sides, and, after some thought, wanted to ask Jon a question.

“Jon,” Daenerys began. “I have been thinking, and I don’t believe that Winterfell should become the North's royal palace when all this is over.”

“I agree,” Jon said. “Because there won’t be a royal house of…”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, Jon, listen to me. I meant what I said about the North staying independent under your rule. For now, at least. But, at the same time, I don’t believe Winterfell would be your castle. It belongs to the Starks and…although the Northmen accept you now, who’s to say they won’t try and push one of your legitimate siblings on your throne if you displease them?”

“Sansa and Arya wouldn’t betray me, Dany,” Jon argued.

“I’m not suggesting that they would,” Daenerys replied. “But if they have children? As the Wardens of this region, anyone they bare might carry the Stark name, even if they marry a lesser lord. When those children grow up, what’s to stop them from trying to take their ‘rightful place’?”

Jon frowned, turning away from Daenerys. Her words angered him. She spoke as if she had little to no faith in his family, his men, and his people. The Lords of the North had sworn their swords to him, bent the knee to him.

_‘And yet,’_ his subconscious whispered. _‘The moment you sent a raven back, saying you were bringing Dany and her people, they turned to Sansa.’_

Jon looked out in the distance, seeing Sansa’s familiar red head, moving through the crowds of women where she was ‘holding court.’ Jon trusted Sansa. It was Sansa’s idea to save Winterfell, to reclaim their home from the Boltons.

“So, then, what would you suggest, Dany?” Jon whispered. “If I do not make Winterfell my castle?”

“Build something new,” Daenerys suggested. “Something for you and your heirs.”

Jon’s eyes flicked in Daenerys’s direction, to her stomach. It looks perfectly flat behind her thick furs.

_‘Stop dreaming, Boy,’_ Jon told himself. ‘She has told you many times of her infertility. _Stop dreaming of a life you know is impossible.’_

“And where would I build this…castle?” Jon asked. “Am I to tax my men right after they are fighting for their lives?”

Daenerys shook her head. “I never said it had to be today. I never said it had to be tomorrow. And please, do not think I am trying to drive a wedge between you and your family. But I know and have seen the infighting consequences, and I do not want that to happen to you.”

Jon turned to face his love, grasping Daenerys’s gloved hand he pulled her close. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Dany. Not again. Not when I have the great Mother of Dragons by my side.”

“Oh, and what am I, a worn boot?”

Jon whipped around, dropping Daenerys’s hand to see Arya standing behind them. The young She-Wolf was dressed in light, but warm furs, her cloak open to reveal Needle and her dagger.

“Arya,” Jon said, wondering how much his sister had both seen and heard. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be lurking around?”

“This is the perfect time to be lurking around,” Arya retorted, her eyes going to Daenerys. “So, you’re the Dragon Queen.”

Jon stiffened, he had hoped that Arya wouldn’t find Daenerys interesting, but then he remembered their youth. Arya had dreamed of being a ‘Visenya’ the same way Jon had wanted to be Daeron, the Young Dragon.

_‘I suppose, in a way, we both are attracted to dragons,_ ’ Jon thought.

“That I am,” Daenerys said, giving Arya a small nod. “It’s an honor to meet the other of Jon’s sisters, especially one who I hear loves the sword almost as much as he does.”

Arya inclined her head, her eyes studying Daenerys slowly, calculatingly. After a moment, she finally spoke.

“What is it like,” Arya asked. “Riding a dragon? Be up in the clouds?”

“It’s impossible to put it all to words,” Daenerys replied. “I’m weightless, no longer captive to the ground. It’s…ethereal, I could almost say.”

Arya crossed her arms. “Right, so, I have a proposition. I do not know if my ‘Lord Brother’ has told you, but I have always wanted to ride a dragon. Now that one is close. I would be a fool, not at least to ask. I offer you sword and combat lessons. In return, I ask for a ride or two.”

“ARYA!” Jon exclaimed.

Jon knew his sister was blunt, but he was not expecting her to be -this- straightforward. _‘Damn the Wolfblood in her veins!’_

He glanced at Daenerys, hoping she was not offending in this absurd proposal. However, rather than being angry, Daenerys looked interested, happy even.

“I will not lie, Lady Stark, that the desire to learn how to wield a sword has not interested me,” Daenerys said. “However, I will warn you that I cannot just ‘take you’ upon the backs of the dragons. They have to get used to you first.”

“I can wait,” Arya replied, her excitement showing in her grey eyes. “And ‘Lady Stark’ is Sansa. I am not a Lady, or a Princess, or whatever titles my brother has forced upon us. I am just, Arya.

Daenerys smiled. “Well then, ‘Just Arya’, when shall our lessons begin?”

Jon’s jaw dropped, looking between his lover and his sister. “Wait. What. Huh?”

Arya smirked at Jon’s confusion and turned to Daenerys. “Come, ‘Your Grace.’ We can begin your lessons right now.”

Daenerys grinned and nodded to Arya. “Lead the way.”

Jon watched the two women walk away, quickly striking up a conversation as if they were old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I know, I know, it's been a WHILE since I've posted a chapter. Life got in the way, and I'm so sorry. But I'm back (And with a new computer!!) and play to begin posting more often! I offer this short chapter that I hope wets your pallets because we have much more coming soon!
> 
> So, questions for this chapter: what did you think? Was Dany right in suggesting that Jon would make something for his own? Or is she worrying all for nothing? What did you think of Arya? Was it predictable that she and Dany becoming quick friends (Fuck you Dumb and Dumber for them not even having a SCENE together & that stupid line of 'I know a killer when I see one')? Will Arya finally get that dragon ride she's always wanted?
> 
> Also, for those who've been paying attention, this is the second time that someone's talked about, or mentioned heirs; as well as thinking of Dany... Will we get Boatsex baby? If we do, will it be only one? Two? Three? I'd love to hear your predictions.
> 
> Until we meet again, guys! :)


	8. CHAPTER VIII – SARELLA

“Did you hear? The Dragon Queen has taken up residence with the Starks?”

“A dragon won’t survive that far North. Then again, maybe that’s the point.”

Sarella Sand pretended not to hear the maesters as she poured a ladle of lamb stew in the bowls before them. The Citadel had become a buzzing bee have since Daenerys Targaryen had landed on the shores of Westeros, it’s members divided.

Some believed that, as the last Targaryen, Daenerys would have the loyalty of Oldtown.

Some believed that, as a woman, she had no such right to the power of the Iron Throne.

Some believed that since the Iron Throne was currently being sat upon by Cersei Lannister, she deserved their loyalty.

Lastly, some believed that they should stay neutral in this apparent battle on the horizon and swear fealty to the winner.

Under the name of Alleras, Sarella hid in plain sight within the Citadel since her 10th nameday. Initially aided by her father, it didn’t take Oberyn long to realize the intellect of his forth-eldest daughter was vast beyond his own. So, he left her under the care of an Archmaester he could trust, with a clear way out of her ever needed escape.

Within her first year at the Citadel, ‘Alleras’ earned three links to ‘his’ maseter chain. Now, Sarella was close to almost two dozen.

Sarella kept her ears to the walls of the building, listening, and sending letters to her family. Like all, she had been carefully following the ‘situation’ of Dragon Queen, yet kept her opinions to herself.

“The Novice that stole those three important books in the archives,” the First Maester asked. “What was his name again?”

“Tarly, I believe,” the Second Maester commented. “Samwell Tarly. Where did he go, by the way?”

“The Maester serving in Winterfell isn’t loyal to us, which will not do, will it, my friends?”

The Maesters all nodded, murmuring in agreement.

“Not to mention the seat of Grand Maester is open,” the First Maester commented. “But it begs the question: who would want to be the Grand Maester of Cersei Lannister…”

“Or Daenerys Targaryen,” a Third Maester said. “We need eyes in Kingslanding and at Winterfell. When the tide turns, we need to be there to guide it.”

“Do not forget Dorne too,” a Fourth Maester suddenly said.

Sarella’s back stiffened as she began to pour wine into cups, yet she made sure to keep her face impassive.

“Oh… right…” the First Maester sighed. “I had forgotten about that cesspit of debauchery. There are no more Martells, are there?”

“Not that I know off,” the Fourth Maester replied. “The only links to that House are the remaining four bastard daughters of Oberyn Martell and his whore. I believe her father has them, or something. If he presses their claim, that will be wicked base blood upon that throne.”

“Then, why don’t we intervene as we did so long ago when the Dragons became too large for our comfort?” the First Maester suggested.

Sarella’s ears perked up. Growing up, she remembered her father telling her the rumors of how the Maesters were vital in the fall of House Targaryen. How they did something to their children, to their dragons, to prevent them from becoming growing or even dying in infancy. The Maesters blamed it on the gods finding disfavor in the House, although Oberyn believed it more-so had to do with mortal intervention than divine.

I must protect my sisters, Sarella thought. I must get back to Dorne.

She bowed her head to the Archmaester, who sat at the head of the table. “Might I leave now?”

The old man waved ‘Alleras’ away without a second thought, before digging into his lamb stew. Sarella secretly hoped he would choke and die on it but kept her thoughts to herself.

Walking casually to her chambers, Sarella went to the trunk at the foot of her bed and began to dig through it. She had a pretty good idea of where her sisters where she had to warn them of the impending danger coming their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I know the chapter's short, but it's an important one. Sarella Sand is an interesting character in the books, and, since the 'death' of her older 3 sisters & there is no other person with Martell blood alive; she's an important character now. What do you think of her & who do you think she'll side with?
> 
> Also, what do you think the Maesters meant 'they might have to step in just like they did when the Dragons (I capitalized that on purpose) got too big for their liking'? Let your tin foil hats tingle!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it. If you did, please don't hesitate to leave me a kudos or a comment. To be honest, I prefer comments because I would like to know what you think of the story so far.
> 
> Although my favorite FanFiction series to write is A Song of Ice and Fire related, I am quite a diverse writer having written for other shows/books such as Castlevania, The Boys, Marvel Comics (coming soon!), and more! Interested in reading my other work? Just click on my name, and it'll take you right too it!
> 
> Thank you, and happy reading!


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